November 24, 2015 by scratchtype1
The legs still have some soreness in them. There’s joy in that, knowing that I gave a good effort on Sunday, that I got to fly in the last few hundred yards of the half-marathon in spite of legs that were right on the edge of cramping, but almost all I could see was the finish line and wanting to make what will likely be my only race this year one where I went to the edge. And survived.
So does the broken but healing thumb. Although it’s improving nicely. Still some swelling, and I can’t put too much direct pressure on the thumb tip without wanting to yelp. And I still flash back to that crazy few seconds of the pickup truck that gave me no room and still feel an uncertain dread whenever I see car that doesn’t begin moving to its left early on after seeing me. Today I had someone in an SUV move to the left then veer some back towards me. When I looked into the SUV, I could see the driver holding a cellphone in front of her face.
Why the fuck would you drive like that? You’re responsible for a large, fast and potentially deadly object. But you’re paying more attention to your fucking cellphone. Fuck you, asshole. Put the fucking phone down.
I saw the edge again today. And survived. Not so much joy and pleasure about that one.
I’ve run a lot this year and it’s helped to keep me sane. Even in a month as odd as this. Strange good stuff and strange bad stuff. I put my running into an effort to do some good and hope to continue to do so in the years to come. I got grazed by a pickup maybe on the same date that a couple of years ago a runner friend had a nightmare that I had been struck and killed by a car.
The day I went into Philly to pick up my racing kit I got a call from a recruiter who had a lead on a good job opening for me. We arranged a first interview for yesterday, Monday, and that led me to doing a phone interview with another person later that afternoon. Boom, job offer. Then I got hurried off to a drug and med screening appointment. But now in a couple of weeks I’ll have a new and more regular job.
I read Stephen King’s 11/22/63 this month. The first part of the book is the best writing I’ve ever read by him. But it’s almost eerie to think how he writes about in the changing universe of that book, the narrator keeps encountering strange coincidences, as he tries to change the past. And I ran my half-marathon on the 22nd. And I got grazed by a pickup the same date a runner friend had once had nightmare about me being killed by a car.
I survived that and all this.
Life is such a fucked-up affair, isn’t it?